


Three Survivors is Enough for a Club

by orphan_account



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my second last challenge from The Great Improbable Porn Battle, and the last one with Mr Cutter. It’s been fun!</p><p>Bonus Round: Mister/Mister – Some sort of mandatory gala after the triumphant return to Earth by the heroic crew of the Urania and the few survivors of the Hephaestus. (Renée can be alive or dead; whichever she is, Eiffel is the opposite.)</p><p>In so many ways, this is for Harper. She’ll know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Survivors is Enough for a Club

“I thought he’d be taller,” Mr Koudelka remarks to the well-dressed gentleman at his elbow. Koudelka’s always been tall, too tall to ride carnival rides since he was fifteen, a devastating force on the high school rugby team. In contrast, Douglas Eiffel looks like someone forgot to feed him as a boy and he never grew into his own body. Not tall enough to ride. Though that could be the effect of spaceflight. Aren’t astronauts supposed to shrink over time? He resists the urge to record a memo to check into the matter later. He’s not going to write a story about this night. “I guess I thought he’d look, more like me, I guess.”

Mr Cutter nods and tries to look sympathetic, but the man doesn’t have it in him. “Of course. You only know his voice. And what Minkowski told you about him in her messages. Jacobi passed on her last transmissions to you, I’m sure! The one where she confessed – well, I’m sure he passed it on.” He waves and a heavy set man waves back. That must be Jacobi. The druglords of Columbia didn’t have henchmen who could shift their weight half as well as Jacobi could, or who looked half a good in a tux. By all reports, Mr Cutter could pay more than most of the cartels Mr Koudelka had reported on, so it makes sense he can afford to quality help. “What happened to her is such a shame.”

“She wasn’t the woman I thought she was.” Mr Koudelka answers the question that hadn’t been asked. “She wasn’t the woman I thought I’d fallen in love with. That woman wouldn’t have cheated on me with – with anyone. With him.” He looks again at Eiffel across the room. The man is being careful not to make eye contact. Is he avoiding Mr Cutter or Mr Koudelka? Or all of them. He certainly isn’t looking at either of their rescuers, the survivors of the heroic crew of the Urania who’d arrived tragically too late to save Minkowski from their double agent doctor. Cutter had been sure to emphasize the tragedy part of the situation when he gave the opening toast at their Welcome Home Party, though he’d forgotten to say who Dr Hilbert had actually been working for. A curious oversight from such a thorough man. Eiffel is mostly just looking at his glass, or at the bar. Mr Koudelka wants to go over to him, talk to him, to try to understand what Minkowski had seen in him, what desperation could have driven her into his arms. He needs to know that she found comfort there, that she didn’t die alone and friendless, that she had someone who loved her there at the end. He doesn’t do this, though. That’s not tonight’s assignment. He turns away from Eiffel deliberately, faces Mr Cutter instead. “I don’t know which of them I hate more.” It’s not hard to let anger seep through his voice.

“You need to stop living in the past!” Mr Cutter says with an expressive wave of a hand. It might be a threat, or maybe Mr Cutter always talks like that, a lilting cheer. Either way, Mr Koudelka nods.

“I know. I can’t stop thinking about her. With him. His hands on her, moving against her.” He lingers over the words, watching Mr Cutter’s face intently. “I waited for her. I haven’t been with anyone since she left.” It’s the truth, but it’s hard to say. Even that much information seems like a betrayal. She was always so private about sex, the only person he’d ever been with who could orgasm completely silently. It was probably the only thing she did silently. He presses on through the memories. “I wish I could think of someone else?”

He didn’t mean to be this forward. He thought he’d be slow, subtle. But the same instinct that guided him safely through reporting on the Taliban in Afghanistan, the prisons of China, every conflict he should not have walked out of with a camera and a story, that instinct is telling him that Mr Cutter is not a subtle man. And it’s right. A smile blooms over the man’s face. This man doesn’t trust anyone else, but he trusts himself, and he trusts that there is no one he can’t control. And why not? It’s worked for him so far. Mr Koudelka can only guess at the secrets the three remaining crew of the Hephaestus Mission and Urania Rescue Operation had brought home. Everyone from Goddard had been too scared of Mr Cutter to talk. Mr Koudelka saw Jacobi lurking nearby and amended the thought. Scared and loyal. A devastating combination. It’s too bad he won’t file the story of this night. It would be a fascinating magazine piece, if anyone would have the courage to print it.

“Now that is a problem.” Mr Cutter’s not moving closer, but he’s not moving away either. His predatory smile suits him better than the contrition did. If Mr Koudelka was the man he’d been ten years ago, he would have been lost in the promise of destruction in Mr Cutter’s eyes. There was a reason he’d always taken the riskiest assignments, always come home safe. Not like Minkowski. Mr Koudelka lets himself be who he was then and leans into Mr Cutter, a hand brushing the smooth fabric of his jacket, breath against his ear.

“Reputation has it, you’re an excellent problem solver?” Without turning around, he can feel the eyes on him. Eiffel’s, Jacobi’s. Others. They don’t matter. Mr Cutter has tilted his head and Mr Koudelka meets his mouth, lips open, inviting more.

It takes them less than three minutes to get to the bathroom. Mr Koudelka is haunted by Eiffel’s stare, though Jacobi looks pleased, if anything. Mr Koudelka presses Mr Cutter against the full length mirror and starts fumbling at his fly. He can see the reflection of the back of Mr Cutter’s perfect hair. Mr Cutter has Mr Koudelka’s cock in one hand, is running a thumb lazily along its length. He’s saying something, some nonsense about corporate policy and that ridiculous protocol manual that hadn’t saved Minkowski, hadn’t been enough to protect her. She’d made Mr Koudelka quiz her on all the tips before she went to space, so she was sure she’d memorized it perfectly. Mr Koudelka raises one hand to cup Mr Cutter’s face, the other freeing his cock, then slams the back of his head hard enough against the mirror to make it shatter.

They’d patted Mr Koudelka down for weapons when he entered the party, but he knows that humans have an infinite capacity for violence. He’s seen it in the streets of Syria and deserts of Iraq. He brings his other hand up and presses down on Mr Cutter’s windpipe with both hands. The man is thrashing, trying to hit him, but this isn’t Mr Koudelka’s first time. He’s never told anyone that, not even his wife. In China, he had been desperate to escape, willing to do anything to get away. This time, he’s not running. He holds Mr Cutter still despite the blows, waiting for the man’s eyes to bulge and him to stop struggling. When he’s sure Mr Cutter is dead, he gives it another minute for good measure.

When he finally releases him, Mr Cutter’s body slumps to the ground. Mr Koudelka lets it fall. He puts his own penis, flaccid now, back in his pants. He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to wash his hands. It feels very Lady Macbeth, but it’s not like he has any pressing business, so he indulges the notion. And that’s everything. There’s nothing else left to do. He releases a breath of air, sits down beside the corpse in the mirror fragments, and waits. It won’t take long for Jacobi to realize something is wrong and come looking.


End file.
